


The Exploding Tree Incident

by ellijay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellijay/pseuds/ellijay
Summary: Merlin and Lancelot are faced with a tree full of evil crows, and the tree doesn’t play fair. Of course, Merlin suffers for it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to “The Not Quite Baby Griffin,” and likewise developed out of a brief mention in my fic “As Cold As Any Stone”. Written in the same vein, more lighthearted than usual, but liberally laced with drama. Special thanks to Lex for reading this over and helping me clear out the pesky typos and overt Americanisms. The story is definitely better for it.

Lancelot often worried about Merlin. Of course there was always some apprehension during the times when the two of them were secretly chasing after some relatively minor magical threat to the kingdom. Their goal was primarily to quickly handle the problem using Merlin’s talents before someone else got involved and inevitably made the situation worse, and they’d been successful in their efforts thus far, a few injuries notwithstanding. Lancelot still shuddered every time he recalled having to stitch the wound across Merlin’s back after their encounter with a not quite full-grown but still dangerous griffin. Merlin had healed, though, and the griffin decidedly hadn’t.

No, the more frequent and persistent problem was Arthur. He seemed to have few qualms about heaping work on Merlin, even when the beleaguered servant was already exhausted beyond being able to think or act sensibly. To be fair, Arthur had shouldered a heavy burden with his father’s illness, and he had no true idea of what Merlin got up to in his time away from his obligations to the prince. Despite Arthur’s impression, precious little of that time was spent in the tavern.

So Arthur shuffled some of his more routine duties onto his servant. When Lancelot was in a charitable mood, he liked to think this was because the prince trusted Merlin to faithfully attend to some of the endless details that plagued the de facto leader of a kingdom, but there were times that it seemed Arthur delighted in adding to Merlin’s ever-growing list of chores. Merlin rarely complained, though. He always had a smile and a kind word for anyone who crossed his path, regardless of the amount of work that stood between him and his bed at the end of the day.

The most time-consuming of Merlin’s newfound responsibilities seemed to be acting as a kind of scribe to Arthur. There was a huge amount of paperwork involved in running a kingdom, and Lancelot often saw Merlin with ink-stained fingers. They were always clean later, though, which led him to believe Merlin had some sort of spell for removing ink. Every other scribe Lancelot had ever encountered seemed to have fingertips permanently stained black.

Actually, Lancelot had wondered more than once if part of Merlin’s motivation for opting to pursue elusive enemies beyond the walls of the city was to temporarily get away from some of his more onerous duties, especially the scribing. He seemed to do quite a lot of flexing of his fingers and rubbing at his knuckles while they were traipsing across fields and creeping through the woods, and Lancelot didn’t think it had anything to do with preparing to cast a spell.

Still, Merlin’s access to the slew of documents destined for Arthur’s desk made it easier for him to learn when his less orthodox skills were the best solution to a problem. Often, all Merlin had to do was shuffle a bit of paper under a stack where it wouldn’t be found for a long while, certainly after the threat was gone. And Arthur _had_ given Merlin the responsibility of vetting reports of magical threats during the outbreak of hallucinations caused by contaminated grain, and the prince had never bothered to officially rescind the assignment.

Merlin rarely went on his clandestine missions alone, though. In fact, Lancelot had gotten so accustomed to Merlin turning to him whenever he decided to deal with a magical problem behind Arthur’s back, that he was surprised when he nearly ran right into Merlin just inside the door of Gaius’s chambers. Merlin had a bag slung over his shoulder and a look on his face that said he was going to do more than simply gather herbs for Gaius.

Lancelot quickly forgot the strained leg muscle that had sent him to seek Gaius’s care and instead focused his full attention on Merlin, who was doing a horrible job of concealing the guilt evident in his expression. He tried innocent surprise, then anger, then frustration before he finally gave in, shrugging his shoulders and saying, “I didn’t think I needed to bother you this time. It’s just a bunch of birds. Well vicious things sort of like large crows. But you can hardly stick a spear or a sword into those, so I thought I’d handle it myself.”

Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest. “And what about other pointy things?”

Merlin was apparently confused by the question and frowned. Lancelot had the urge to leave him befuddled for a moment, but then Merlin might decide to leave alone just on general principle.

“Arrows are pointy,” Lancelot explained. “And they’re very good at taking down flying things. You might’ve noticed the last time we went hunting duck.”

Merlin grimaced in response. There had been lakes involved, and he’d come home soaked to the skin because there had been far more downed duck than retriever dogs, and Arthur had been impatient to get back to the castle.

“All right,” Merlin finally said after a moment of dithering. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to distract the – whatever they are – while I take care of them. They’re definitely magical. I couldn’t find anything to exactly match the description in any of Gaius’s books, but they’re attacking people, and the wounds they’re leaving are very painful and slow to heal, so…”

“Magic,” Lancelot finished. “All right then. I’ll fetch my bow and arrows and meet you–”

“At the first fork in the road,” Merlin interrupted, already heading out the door. “Just like last time, and the time before that, and the time before _that...”_

His voice faded as he disappeared, leaving Lancelot with a momentary smile on his face before he too left, but not before snagging a jar of the ointment that he knew very well contained medicine for sore muscles. It wouldn’t do for him to be limping or leaning in his stance while trying to shoot – whatever they were – out of the sky.

*****

It was a beautiful Spring day, much better suited to travelling than the times Merlin and Lancelot had found themselves tramping through snow over the winter. There was a gentle breeze blowing, warm sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees, and the air was filled with the trilling of birdsong. However, as they drew nearer to the part of the forest where their targets were said to reside, the air took on a decided chill and the sun hid itself behind a bank of grey clouds. The woodland creatures went silent as well, apart from a distant cawing that did actually sound vaguely like crows, but wasn’t quite the same. It was a harsher call, with an undertone that reminded Lancelot of the scrape of metal against a whetstone. The sound set his nerves on edge, and as he glanced over at Merlin, he saw that his companion was equally discomfited.

Merlin raised a hand to halt their progress, listened intently for a moment, then pointed at Lancelot’s quiver of arrows. Lancelot unslung it from his shoulder and handed it to Merlin, who raised one hand over the fletched ends of the arrows as he began to mutter something under his breath.

Lancelot took the opportunity to string his bow, but did so almost automatically, keeping an ear attuned to their surroundings at the same time as he watched in fascination as Merlin completed his spell and the arrows began to glimmer with a silvery light. As many times as he had seen Merlin perform magic, Lancelot never got over the feeling of awe and reverence it inspired in him, along with a sense of sorrow that such a thing had to be kept secret. Maybe one day that would change. He sincerely hoped so, for Merlin’s sake if for nothing else, and he knew that Merlin fervently wished for the same, more than Lancelot could ever properly comprehend.

Merlin handed the quiver back to Lancelot, who shouldered it again without asking questions. Whatever Merlin had done to the arrows, Lancelot trusted that it would be deadly to their foe.

They headed off down the forest path again, little more than a game track really, but it sufficed to help them muffle their progress by avoiding the thickest parts of the undergrowth. When they finally came within sight of the clearing containing the massive tree the bird-like creatures had claimed as their territory, Lancelot was glad of their caution. It would not have done to draw attention to themselves, not that much could be heard above the cacophony produced by the things.

Their number was massively more than the report of their presence indicated. Every branch was laden with black shapes, and there were even more swooping in the air around the tree. Lancelot couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that they were conferring with one another about the details of their next attack. He glanced over at Merlin, who appeared to be equally disconcerted by what he was seeing.

Lancelot nudged Merlin with the end of his bow to get his attention, then drew an arrow and fitted it to the string, even while part of him gibbered that what he had in his quiver would do precious little to defeat this menace. He could only hope that whatever spell Merlin had laid on the arrows would somehow multiply their effect, and that Merlin had something else planned, some other magic that would be effective against creatures like these.

Merlin, however, laid a firm hand on Lancelot’s arm and shook his head sharply. Lancelot lowered the bow but kept the arrow nocked in case his assistance was still needed. He watched Merlin intently and with a bit of worry as he cautiously took several paces forward into the clearing around the tree, then stopped to take a firm stance and raise his hand in a familiar fashion. As Lancelot had suspected, more magic than just enchanted arrows was going to be needed to bring this enemy to heel.

Or destroy it entirely, he thought distractedly as Merlin uttered one word, and the tree instantly flared with flames from its base to the tips of every branch. Lancelot was entirely too overwhelmed by the impressive showing of magic to do much coherent thinking. Besides, he was further distracted by the eerie cawing turning to a crescendo of screeching as the creatures lining the branches of the trees were consumed by the fire, charred and still burning bodies falling to the ground in a grotesque heap.

The ones who had been airborne around the tree escaped the fire and were flapping in momentary confusion and probably fear and shock, if they were even capable of feeling such things. Lancelot took the opportunity to use the arrows so kindly bespelled by Merlin to begin bringing the remnants of the flock to earth. The arrows flew true and straight, every one hitting its mark, a silvery trail marking its progress across the sky. The effect was oddly as beautiful as it was deadly.

There were entirely too many survivors, though, and they were quickly becoming reoriented. Merlin joined in the fray, but words apparently weren’t needed for whatever magic he was using now. Lancelot could see out of the corner of his eye that Merlin simply had his hand raised with fingers splayed, and whatever creature was in the general direction of the warlock’s palm would explode into a cloud of feathers and assorted gore. It was a disturbing thing to witness, but it was viciously effective.

Between the arrows, and Merlin’s hand and glowing eyes, the numbers of the whatever-they-weres were quickly greatly reduced. Unfortunately, they had located the source of their woe and were attempting to attack Merlin and Lancelot, flying straight towards them and screeching so loudly and horribly that shivers went down Lancelot’s back. Some of the attackers almost reached their mark, and Lancelot even ended up splattered with some decidedly unsavory bits, but apparently only the creatures’ bites were of real concern, and they didn’t get close enough to stab or slash with their beaks.

One of the things, however, seemed to have determined that living to fight another day was a better choice than remaining engaged in a losing battle. It zipped past Lancelot before he could bring it down and went flying erratically amongst the trees, looking for an escape route through the dense woods.

“Lancelot!” Merlin cried out, his tone a bit desperate. “We can’t let any of them escape!” He evidently had noticed the wayward straggler’s attempt to abscond with its life intact, but was intensely occupied with ensuring that none of its friends would join it.

Lancelot briefly considered pointing out to Merlin that biologically speaking, one creature wasn’t capable of repopulating the species, but then again, it was probably foolish to assume they reproduced like the birds they vaguely resembled and didn’t simply spawn by some aspect of their dark, magical nature.

“I’ve got it!” Lancelot yelled as he turned and followed the creature into the forest, bow raised, arrow nocked and bowstring taut. He didn’t have to go far because the horrid thing actually landed on the branch of a tree and sat there rattling its wings and fluffing its jet-black feathers. It must’ve thought it was safe. It was definitely wrong. One silvery arrow trail later, and it was falling to the forest floor, very much dead.

Lancelot felt a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, but it quickly faded. In the relative quiet now devoid of screeching and cawing, he noticed an odd noise, a combination of popping, crackling and hissing. As he headed back towards where he’d left Merlin, still scanning the air for any further escapees, Lancelot concluded that what he was hearing was not unlike the sounds of a campfire. That made sense since he could see through the trees that the former home of the magical creatures was still ablaze. Still, there was something not quite right about the sound. Lancelot thought for a moment that it must be a side effect of magic, either Merlin’s or that of the creatures, but then it occurred to him that the tree was a massive pine, and it was Springtime, so it would be full of rising sap. And the sound was becoming rapidly louder.

“Merlin! Get down!” Lancelot shouted as he increased his pace back towards his friend, but the flaming tree apparently couldn’t contain the effects of the conflagration any longer and abruptly exploded into a million bits of flaming shrapnel. Lancelot reflexively ducked and covered his head with his arms, hoping desperately that Merlin was doing the same.

Merlin, however, wasn’t known for having the reflexes of a trained knight, nor did he have a particularly keen sense of self-preservation. Lancelot cringed as he heard a pained shout followed by a thump and a loud groan. He flat out ran to Merlin’s side, arriving as the last of the burning debris pattered to the ground.

None of the scorching bits of wood had hit Lancelot, or at least he didn’t think so. The trees and undergrowth and his distance from the clearing had protected him. Merlin apparently hadn’t fared as well, being so close to the exploding tree and out in the open besides. He was curled on the ground on his side, an arm across his face, but judging from the dirt and leaf litter on his clothing, he had at least managed to roll around enough to put out any tree remnants that were still burning when they struck him.

Lancelot dropped to Merlin’s side and quickly set about assessing the damage. Thankfully, Merlin’s clothing seemed to have mostly protected him. There were small burned patches on his jacket and trousers that were worrisome, and Lancelot thought he could detect the smell of singed hair, but what truly concerned him was Merlin’s face and hands. He could already see that Merlin’s hands were spattered with angry red patches. At least none of them were very big. The tree had done a very thorough job of destroying itself.

“Merlin,” Lancelot called gently, laying a hand carefully on his friend’s shoulder. He was answered with a long, low moan. Not particularly reassuring. “Merlin, I need to see your face. Did any of the debris hit you there?”

There was a moment of motionless quiet, then a slight nod. Merlin gingerly lowered his arm, revealing a mottling of red marks similar to his hands, but there was a somewhat larger mark on his left eyelid. Lancelot sucked in a breath. Other than the burn obviously being painful – it was evident from Merlin’s rapid breathing and the tension in his face that he was generally in a fair amount of pain – Lancelot was concerned about damage to the eye itself.

“Merlin, I know this may hurt, but I need you to open your eyes,” Lancelot said softly but firmly.

Another moment of silence, then Merlin cautiously did as instructed, not without a fair bit of wincing. Lancelot leaned over to get a good look and was relieved to see that the affected eye was whole and untouched. He let out a long, slow breath, then sat back on his heels, wondering what he needed to do next.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got some burn salve in your bag?” he asked. He was answered by an exasperated sigh.

“Of course I do,” Merlin replied, and Lancelot was certain that if it hadn’t been for the burn, Merlin would’ve rolled his eyes. “That’s just basic kit with you lot.”

Lancelot gave a wry smile. Merlin was, of course, referring to the small group of Arthur’s closest knights and their propensity for running into trouble. Merlin had grown skilled at patching them up when they were away from Gaius’s care, and at instructing others to treat him if need be, although when that happened, there was always more discontent in the camp than if one of the knights was hurt. None of them liked seeing a servant injured, especially not Lancelot because he knew that Merlin was so much more than he appeared to be.

Merlin slowly sat up, hissing when he pressed the side of one of his hands against the forest floor to help right himself. He quickly pulled the hand back towards himself and hunched over a bit as he stretched his legs out. Both his hands then came to rest palms down against the tops of his legs, and he sighed as he peered at his latest collection of injuries. “Well,” he said with a bit of chagrin as he turned his hands over to see the full extent of the burns there, “if I were aiming to scorch myself, I’ve done a proper job of it. At least Arthur couldn’t criticize me for this.”

“I’m sure Gaius will feel differently,” Lancelot pointed out, the comment in lieu of the sharp statement he’d wanted to make about Arthur so often being careless of his servant. It was a discussion Lancelot had tried to have once with Merlin, and Merlin had made it plainly known that Arthur’s treatment of him was his own business.

“I’m sure he will,” Merlin replied ruefully, obviously thinking of the scolding he was going to get from his mentor.

Lancelot started to reach for the strap of Merlin’s bag, but Merlin shook his head and said, “Wait a moment. There’s something I want to try.”

Lancelot watched in confusion as Merlin held his right hand palm down over his left. Then he quietly said a few words that Lancelot didn’t understand, but knew from their sound to be magical in nature. As soon as Merlin said the last word, though, he yelped and started flapping his left hand frantically in the air.

“Merlin!” Lancelot cried out in concern. It occurred to him that his friend had been trying to heal his burns, but the attempt had obviously not gone well.

“It’s all right,” Merlin said quickly, even though it definitely wasn’t, not in any way whatsoever as far as Lancelot was concerned.

Merlin did stop waving his hand about and brought it back to rest on his thigh. Lancelot could see that the red marks on that hand were now larger and seemed more inflamed. He wondered if Merlin had ever tried this particular spell before. He certainly hoped not, because if this were the result after practice, he shuddered to think what might’ve happened previous times. He had a brief, stomach-churning vision of Merlin deliberately burning himself in order to gain experience with the spell. He did sometimes have the odd burn on his fingers, but Lancelot firmly told himself that was most likely only the result of Merlin’s daily duties tending to fires, venturing into the kitchen to fetch Arthur’s meals, and regularly visiting the smithy for repairs to the prince’s armor and weapons.

Merlin had quickly moved on from the failed magic attempt. “I suppose we’re going to have to do this the traditional way,” he said as he started to lift the strap of his bag over his head. The movement was obviously painful, causing him to close his eyes and moan softly.

“Here. Let me,” Lancelot insisted as he quickly took over freeing the bag, but once he’d opened it, he was a bit bewildered by the jumble of items inside. Merlin was apparently stocking more and more medicinal supplies as time went by. There were bottles and cloth-wrapped packets and bandages, as well as a spare pair of socks and a clean neckerchief, but a bit of rummaging yielded what he needed, a small jar neatly labelled in Gaius’s hand.

Lancelot fretted that there wouldn’t be enough of the salve to treat all the burns, but under Merlin’s guidance, he found that only a very small dab was needed for each one. He quickly treated Merlin’s face and hands, and even gently carded through Merlin’s hair to find the painful red spots hiding there. Merlin insisted on taking over after that, despite his injured hands, and Lancelot watched with a frown as he gingerly reached under his shirt to apply the medicine to the spots where the cloth was burned through. Then there was the matter of the similar patches on his trousers. For those, Merlin simply poked a finger smeared with salve through the holes in the fabric.

Finally, Merlin handed the jar back to Lancelot and let out a long, slow breath. He seemed relatively relaxed now, so Lancelot assumed there must be some sort of pain reliever mixed in with the salve. That was a very good thing, because they were half a day’s ride from Camelot. Fortunately, the horse Lancelot had brought had a smooth and steady gait, and they weren’t very far from the road at present. Hopefully, the trip back wouldn’t be too uncomfortable or demanding for Merlin.

Without a word, Lancelot shouldered Merlin’s bag, got to his feet, and started to offer a hand to help his friend rise. He realized, though, that grasping Merlin’s hand wasn’t a good idea, so he opted for Merlin’s elbow and forearm instead. Merlin stumbled a bit once he was on his feet, but quickly steadied himself, and they set off through the forest, carefully picking their way back to the road.

Lancelot went first so he could find the clearest route and hold back any stray branches, but he found it difficult to keep his attention on their path and kept stealing backwards glances to make sure his companion was managing to keep to his feet. Merlin seemed to be doing reasonably well, although he frequently paused to take long breaths, and briefly closed his eyes on occasion. He always quickly set off again, which reassured Lancelot somewhat.

Odhran was patiently waiting for them amongst the trees just out of sight of the road. They were soon mounted and on their way home, Merlin seated behind the saddle, even though Lancelot offered to take that spot. Merlin made a comment about it being more comfortable for him there. Lancelot supposed he was meant to take that to mean physically more comfortable, but it occurred to him that Merlin would feel awkward riding in front of a knight. Lancelot felt like arguing the latter point, but he decided it wasn’t the time or place for that particular conversation, and besides, Merlin likely couldn’t take the reins properly with his damaged hands. But that was a moot point since Odhran knew the way home very well.

Lancelot finally set those thoughts aside as an exercise in futility. He really should be thinking instead of a way to get the two of them back through the city gates after nightfall without arousing too much suspicion. He arrived at a plan that made him momentarily smile, and then he considered a backup plan in case that didn’t work as he intended. Merlin likely wouldn’t be happy about either one, but if it meant getting him back to Gaius’s care as quickly and directly as possible, it would be worth risking his ire.

The sun set on their journey and darkness began to gather. Lancelot wasn’t particularly concerned about traveling in the dark since there was a bit of moonlight, and the road ran smooth and straight ahead of them, but Merlin uttered a word that sounded suspiciously like “light” and conjured a softly glowing ball that floated ahead of them to lend illumination to their path. Yet again, Lancelot was left with a lingering sense of wonder at the power that could conjure light simply by commanding it, and the fact that the wielder of that power remained humble and kept his gifts cautiously hidden. Usually. There were times when Lancelot thought Merlin was being reckless with his magic, but any attempt to point out the danger was met with reassurances that everything would be fine. Lancelot still worried. Of course he did. His friend’s very life was preserved only through secrecy.

Lancelot was about to warn Merlin that he should extinguish the evidence of his magic since they had drawn nearly within sight of the city gates, but before he could speak, the ball of light disappeared with a slight pop. Odhran slowed for a moment, but then continued without so much as a whicker. It seemed he’d grown used to Merlin’s abilities over the many times he’d borne Lancelot and Merlin on their way to meet yet another magical nuisance.

There was a long sigh from Merlin, and he said tiredly, “I suppose I’d better get down and find another way into the city. I’d rather not have to face any questions about what happened. It’ll be bad enough having to explain to Gaius.”

“No need. I have a plan,” Lancelot reassured him.

“ _You_ have a plan?”

Lancelot tried not to feel hurt by the skepticism in Merlin’s voice. “You needn’t sound so surprised. I can be sneaky when I want to.”

Another sigh from Merlin. “All right then. What’s your plan?”

Lancelot decided it would be wisest to leave Merlin in the dark regarding the particulars, instead taking his cloak from where he’d left it strapped to the front of the saddle many hours earlier before they’d started their trek through the woods to the fateful tree. He shook the fabric out and handed it back to Merlin.

“Put that on,” Lancelot instructed.

“Lancelot,” Merlin moaned. “That’s hardly going to fool the guards. They’re not _entirely_ stupid, you know.”

“Just…trust me,” Lancelot said, a bit impatiently. “Make sure your face and hands are well-covered, and when we’re near to the guard post, pull your knees up and try to make yourself look as small as possible. I’ll take care of the rest.”

There was a moment of silence, then Merlin replied, “Fine.” He sounded somewhat irritated, but some rustling and shifting told Lancelot that Merlin was going along with the plan.

They set off again, drawing near to the city gates in short order. Lancelot felt some more movement behind him as Merlin dutifully drew up his knees and rearranged the cloak to better cover his legs. There was a bit of a pained gasp as he did so, which made Lancelot feel guilty for asking Merlin to do something that was obviously uncomfortable in his current condition. It was too late to change their course, though. The guards were already peering intently towards them, and one of them called out, “Who goes there?”

“It’s Lancelot,” he responded, and as he drew into the light of the torches, the guard who had spoken visibly relaxed and stepped to the side. The other had a suspicious look on his face, and took a few steps forward, spear at the ready, to look behind Lancelot.

“Who’s that then?” the second guard asked, gesturing towards the cloaked figure riding behind the saddle.

Lancelot glanced down and back, and was gratified to see that with the way Merlin was situated, his boots were mostly hidden beneath the hem of the cloak. That would certainly help with the ruse.

Lancelot turned back towards the guard and said as casually as he possibly could, “That would be Hannah.”

“Ahhh,” the guard replied with a knowing smile as he righted his spear and leaned against it a bit. “So you finally decided to find yourself a woman?” Lancelot smiled and tilted his head in response, but didn’t trust himself to elaborate. He’d probably end up babbling and trying to backtrack on every other thing he said. He still wasn’t a very good liar, despite the need to fabricate explanations from time to time to cover what he and Merlin had been up to. Fortunately, the guard seemed satisfied and drew aside to allow Lancelot and his “woman” to enter.

They hadn’t gone but a few minutes up along the main road when Merlin dropped his knees and muttered, “Really, Lancelot?”

“It worked,” Lancelot replied somewhat smugly. At least he’d managed to tell a successful lie this time. He supposed he could’ve gone with his alternative plan, which was closer to the truth, but he told himself that some practice resorting to small falsehoods was warranted from time to time. Then he could be better prepared for the more serious and potentially lifesaving lies.

“What were you going to do if the guard wanted to take a look my face? I’m obviously not a woman, and he probably would’ve recognized me.”

“I was going to tell him you were on an overnight herb-gathering expedition for Gaius, got tired and fell over into your campfire, and that I was just trying to save your dignity by smuggling you back into the city.”

“Save my dignity by telling the guard I was a woman? Thanks.” The gratitude was decidedly not sincere.

“Honestly, Merlin. No one but me knows you were masquerading as a woman, and I won’t tell a soul.”

“I was _not_ masquerading as a woman,” Merlin protested. He took a deep breath, probably to give Lancelot some further grief, but he apparently decided against it. “Never mind,” he said instead and blew out a long gust of resigned breath.

Lancelot nodded in satisfaction, but then he returned his attention to more pressing matters. “Let’s get you to Gaius. I can tell whatever painkilling effect was in that salve is starting to wear off. And don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Merlin didn’t reply, and Lancelot found his theory proven correct as the pained sounds from his friend increased the further they went into the city. Merlin had been maintaining his balance without assistance for most of the journey home, which had probably kept pressure off most of his wounds, but that wasn’t possible any longer. The incline of the road towards the citadel was making it difficult for Odhran to maintain an even walk, and Merlin also had to take hold of Lancelot’s sides to keep from sliding off the back of the horse, which must have been quite painful, given the burns on his hands. Merlin tried to muffle his occasional hisses and moans, but at one point, he gave a very poorly contained yelp. Fortunately, most of the city dwellers had withdrawn into their homes for the evening, so Merlin and Lancelot drew little attention.

Exhaustion seemed to be overcoming Merlin as well. As the ground evened out and turned to cobbles in the stretch of road leading to the citadel, his grip on Lancelot loosened until he was barely holding on, and his forehead came to rest against the back of Lancelot’s shoulder. His breathing had become noticeably labored as well. Lancelot resisted the urge to spur Odhran to greater speed. Merlin might not be able to keep his seat, even at a gentle canter.

As was their wont when knights approached, the citadel guards allowed Lancelot and his passenger to enter the gates without a challenge. Lancelot was especially thankful for that tonight since he was too distracted by getting Merlin to Gaius as soon as possible to convincingly tell another lie.

They entered the courtyard, and one of the stable boys who were always stationed there came forward to take Odhran by the halter so the riders could dismount. In Merlin’s case, it was more of a barely-controlled fall, but fortunately, Lancelot had gotten down first and managed to grab him under the arms and get him settled on his feet. Then he drew one of Merlin’s arms over his own shoulder to help him across the courtyard and up the stairs to Gaius’s chambers.

Lancelot didn’t think the stable boy had seen Merlin’s face since the boy had been on the opposite side of the horse, and anyway, the stable boys didn’t tend to be gossips. Even if he had caught a glimpse, the tale wouldn’t likely be repeated, even to the other stable boys. It was one less worry for Lancelot, and he had far more important things to be concerned about at the moment.

After a slow and awkward ascent of the narrow, curving stairs leading up to Gaius’s chambers, they entered to find Gaius at his desk, paging through a massive tome of some sort. He immediately laid the magnifying glass down as soon as he saw who had disturbed his reading, and quickly came over to Merlin’s side to assist in getting him to the patient cot.

Gaius didn’t immediately make any comment. He had known where they were going and what they had intended to do, after all, and the fact that they were returning later than expected had probably led him to believe one or the other of them would be injured in some way. Gaius simply pushed the hood back off Merlin’s head, and gave an exasperated sigh when he saw the damage to his ward’s face.

Lancelot felt a bit of bile rise in his throat at the sight. The burns were more prominently red and were now blistered, and Merlin’s injured eye was nearly swollen shut. Gaius didn’t seem alarmed, though. Likely he’d seen far worse, not that the thought was particularly reassuring to Lancelot. This was bad enough.

“Honestly, Merlin,” Gaius said as he took a closer look. “You’d think you could learn to duck. You look like a dragon spat on you.”

“Exploding tree,” Merlin offered with a slight shrug.

Gaius frowned at him for a moment, turned briefly towards Lancelot, but quickly raised a hand to halt whatever further explanation might be forthcoming. “I don’t want to know,” he said, but added, “I assume you achieved what you set out to do?”

“Yes,” Lancelot replied. “In rather spectacular fashion.”

“Hmm. I can see that,” Gaius commented dryly as he returned his attention to his patient. He very carefully pulled Merlin’s eyelid up so that he could check for damage underneath. Merlin shifted and let out a soft grunt at the manipulation, but otherwise remained silent.

“Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” Gaius asked as he raised his free hand.

Merlin started to turn to look, but Gaius slapped him lightly on the side of the head and said with mild irritation, “With your injured eye.”

Gaius held his hand up again, three fingers raised, the other hand gently prying Merlin’s eyelid open again. There was a pause as Merlin obviously worked to focus his vision, but he finally replied, “Three. And your fingernails need trimming.”

Gaius didn’t comment on Merlin’s impertinence, although he did sneak a glance at his fingernails as he reached out to untie the cloak and push it back off Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin had his hands resting lightly on his thighs, and without being prompted, he turned them over to let Gaius see the scattered burns on his palms.

Merlin seemed a bit nervous, which momentarily confused Lancelot, until Gaius looked even more closely at the left hand, then fixed Merlin with a hard stare. “The burns on this hand are worse than the other,” Gaius said with a hint of accusation. Merlin didn’t respond, so Gaius continued. “You tried to use magic to heal yourself, didn’t you?” Still no answer from Merlin, but his expression had turned stubborn and somewhat angry.

“Merlin,” Gaius went on sternly, obviously not needing an admission of guilt. “I’ve warned you about messing about with healing magic.”

“I wasn’t messing about!” Merlin protested. “I was trying to learn. How can I do that if I don’t use the spells?”

“It wasn’t necessary in this case!” Gaius shot back hotly, then he pressed his lips together, blew a sharp breath out of his nose, and went on more calmly, this time with the frustrated tone of a parent who’s had to repeat a lesson to a child one time too many. “Healing magic is more complicated than it seems. It takes long years of tutelage to become proficient with it.”

“I _know_ that,” Merlin put in, his voice petulant.

“Merlin,” Gaius said firmly, stopping whatever else Merlin might be wanting to say. “You can’t possibly master every aspect of magic in a few short years, no matter that it’s inborn to you.”

Merlin seemed poised to offer further argument. The tension between him and Gaius was almost palpable, and Lancelot was toying with the idea of excusing himself. It felt awkward for him to be standing here witnessing what was apparently a long-standing point of contention between the two.

But then Merlin sighed and said in a soft voice laced with a hint of defeat, “I know.”

Gaius’s expression likewise gentled and even seemed a bit regretful. He leaned over and rested a hand on Merlin’s arm and looked him in the eye as he said, “If it’s a truly dire emergency, if there’s no other option, then use the magic.”

Merlin nodded and looked down. Such a sorrowful look passed over Gaius’s face that Lancelot felt a stabbing in his own heart, but then the moment passed. Gaius let out a great, gusting breath and shook his head. He straightened himself, pursed his lips and gave Merlin a cursory glance up and down before he said, “Behind the screen then, and get your shirt and trousers off. You obviously had the reflexes of a sleepy donkey today. You can keep your underclothes on. Probably.”

Merlin gave Gaius a token glare and started to get up from the patient bed, but he had to do so very slowly and carefully. Lancelot quickly stepped in to help him, but once Merlin gained his feet, he shook his arm loose and headed over and behind the screen without further assistance.

Gaius was already moving about the room, quickly selecting bandages and bottles from among his copious supplies, but he paused to make a shooing motion towards Lancelot. “Make yourself useful and see if you can find Merlin’s bed clothes in his room. They’re probably in a heap on the floor.”

“Hey!” Merlin protested from behind the screen. “I tidied my room this morning!”

“Finally,” Gaius muttered, rolling his eyes as he passed Lancelot and headed towards the screen, a basket filled with supplies in one hand.

Lancelot suppressed a laugh, deeply relieved that the mood had lifted, and did as Gaius requested, quickly locating the clothing folded neatly at the foot of Merlin’s bed. He also took a pair of socks from the wash line in the corner of the room. Then he went back into the main chamber and sat quietly on one of the benches while he waited for Gaius to finish treating Merlin. This was mostly done in silence, although there was the occasional pained protest, and a prolonged rustling of bandages.

Gaius finally peered around the edge of the screen and held out his hand for the clothing, which Lancelot delivered without comment. He had to resist the urge to peek around the screen to see how many bandages Gaius had applied. Lancelot figured Merlin wouldn’t want someone staring at him, especially not when he was nearly naked. Hopefully he wasn’t entirely naked because that would mean he’d acquired burns in entirely unacceptable places.

There was some more rustling, and a protest from Merlin that he could dress himself, which went unanswered. Then Gaius pushed the screen aside far enough to reveal Merlin sitting dejectedly on the edge of the bed. He was wearing his bed clothes, including the thick socks Lancelot had included. His hands were heavily bandaged with only the fingertips showing, and there were some lumpy bulges under his shirt that hinted at further bandaging. There was also a strip of linen wound crosswise on his head, covering the injured eye but leaving his other eye relatively clear, and his hair was sticking up in unruly tufts.

“How am I ever going to explain this to Arthur?” Merlin moaned as he examined his well-wrapped hands.

“We could always go with my back-up explanation,” Lancelot said, caught between amusement at Merlin’s near-whining voice and persistent worry at his injuries, even though they had obviously been very thoroughly tended to.

“No,” Merlin said firmly. “I am _not_ going to say I fell into a campfire. Arthur will bring that up every time I set foot near a fire for at least the next year.”

Lancelot paused, then he offered tentatively, “Kitchen mishap?”

“No, that won’t work. There would’ve been witnesses,” Gaius unexpectedly put in. He usually stayed out of this portion of the aftermath of Lancelot and Merlin’s furtive missions, but apparently he was feeling game for a little tale-spinning tonight.

“I suppose you have a better idea then?” Merlin said in exasperation.

“Actually, I do,” Gaius replied thoughtfully.

“Go on, then. What is it?” Merlin looked doubtful. He crossed his arms over his chest, then winced. Apparently he’d temporarily forgotten his injuries.

Gaius frowned at him and didn’t reply immediately. Instead he fetched a vial from a shelf and held it out to Merlin. Merlin let out a long breath and said in a voice that was now openly whining, “Do I have to? That stuff tastes terrible.”

“Yes, you do,” Gaius replied. “You’re obviously in pain, and this will help you sleep besides. You need that to heal. And why am I telling you this? You know it all very well, unfortunately.” He waggled the bottled at Merlin, who obediently took it and swallowed its contents. The predictable grimace followed, but it quickly dissipated. Merlin seemed to be developing a tolerance for the foulness of Gaius’s concoctions.

“So what is it I’m going to be telling Arthur?” Merlin asked with an expectant expression as he handed the empty bottle back to Gaius.

“Oh,” Gaius said with a brief, seemingly innocent grin. “There are any number of caustic substances around here, some of which have to be mixed over heat. If there were, say, an inattentive servant doing the job, the mixture might just boil over or shatter the beaker entirely and send glass and burning hot liquid spattering all over the place. Said servant would be lucky not to lose an eye.”

There was a moment of silence. Merlin looked impressed. He even raised an eyebrow in an admirable impersonation of Gaius. “You’re far more devious than you look,” he finally said.

“I prefer to think of it as having an active imagination,” Gaius replied.

Lancelot couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Gaius turned a critical eye on him, but anything Lancelot might’ve said in reply was forestalled by a soft moan from Merlin.

Lancelot quickly returned his attention to his friend and saw that he was blinking rapidly and looked a bit woozy. “Ooh,” Merlin groaned. He swallowed hard, then looked with vague accusation at Gaius. “You gave me the concentrated stuff, didn’t you?”

Gaius lifted one shoulder and raised his own eyebrow. He didn’t offer an apology, just turned to Lancelot and said, “Help him up to his room, would you? I don’t doubt he’d fall on the stairs otherwise, and then I’d have more injuries to deal with. I’ve had quite enough for today.”

With that, Gaius returned to his desk and his reading, seeming to dismiss Merlin from his mind. Lancelot knew, though, that Gaius would be checking on his ward throughout the night. Probably part of the reason for the extra-strong potion was to keep Merlin oblivious to the fussing.

Merlin stumbled once on the steps up into his room, but he was settled into bed and tucked in without further mishap. Lancelot thought Merlin would quickly fall asleep, but he didn’t close his eyes and still seemed fairly alert, at least for the moment, so Lancelot decided now was as good a time as any to make the request that had been weighing on him ever since the tree went up in flames in response to Merlin’s spell.

“Do me a favor, Merlin,” he said, “and give me some forewarning of what you plan to do in the future. I could’ve taken a better look at the situation and told you setting that tree on fire wasn’t a good idea.”

A frown creased Merlin’s face and his eyebrows drew together. “I still don’t understand what happened. I didn’t _mean_ for the tree to explode.”

“It was a pine, Merlin.” Still confusion, so he added, “It’s Springtime, so it was full of sap.” Still no sign of understanding. Gaius’s potion must be addling his wits. “Haven’t you ever put fresh, green pine on a fire?”

“Well, no,” Merlin said slowly. “That would be stupid, because it would spit all kinds of sparks and… Ah. Send a whole, living pine tree up in flames…”

“Exploding tree,” Lancelot finished.

“I’m an idiot,” Merlin said after a moment.

“No, you’re not,” Lancelot replied quickly, reflexively, and with a bit of heat. Merlin, however, didn’t look convinced. “Really, you’re not,” Lancelot continued, but he decided not to press the point further, at least not at that particular moment. Yet another discussion for later. Instead, he returned to his initial request. “Just let me in on your plans, and I can help with the details.”

Merlin considered for a moment, long enough that Lancelot was convinced he was going to argue, but instead he said, “I’d love to, but it’s sort of…complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Lancelot asked, shifting his stance, then deciding to sit down on the chair next to Merlin’s bed because he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a short explanation. Hopefully, Merlin wouldn’t nod off in the middle of it.

“Sometimes,” Merlin began, then paused before adding, “Well, a lot of times…I don’t know what spell I’m going to use until I can see what’s going on. I couldn’t have known ahead of time that all of those nasty bird things would be roosting in one tree.”

“Granted,” Lancelot said with a nod. He thought a moment, then suggested, “Perhaps you could let me know what you have in your arsenal of spells so I might at least have some idea of what to expect.”

Merlin waved a hand towards his desk. “Feel free to have a look.”

Lancelot turned and saw a stack of books on the corner of the desk. He got up and went over to inspect the top one because he couldn’t believe Merlin would keep a pile of spell books lying out where anyone could find them. Maybe it was time for that lecture about being more careful after all. When he opened the book, though, he was met with what looked like gibberish to him. “Are these written in the old tongue?” he asked.

“No,” Merlin said, drawing the word out, evidently not quite understanding Lancelot’s comment. “Well, the spells themselves are, but not the explanations.” He thought a minute, blinking slowly, then exclaimed, “Oh! Right. Sorry.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and his eyes – or the one eye Lancelot could see – glowed briefly golden. “There. Now you should be able to read them properly. I’ve been experimenting with enchantments for hiding things in plain sight. It’s absolutely stupid the number of times I’ve left a spell book out and almost got caught with it. You’d think I have a death wish.” He gave a slight giggle.

Lancelot peered at him. Gaius’s potion was certainly having _some_ effect on Merlin, but Lancelot couldn’t believe he wasn’t sound asleep yet. And this was the concentrated version of the potion? Either Merlin’s magical nature gave him some inborn resistance to herbal concoctions, or he had built up a resistance through repeated exposure. Lancelot wanted to ask, but he figured he should focus his inquiries before Merlin did finally succumb to sleep. “These are all spell books?” he asked, laying his hand on the finely scribed pages.

“Yep,” Merlin replied, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.

Lancelot shook his head in disbelief at Merlin’s nonchalance, then picked up the book and started to flip through it. The titles of the spells indicated an impressive array of magic. “Are you actually able to cast all of these spells?” he asked as he looked back over at Merlin.

“Most of the ones I’ve tried.” He seemed matter-of-fact now, not at all conceited, as if this were simply a part of his everyday life, and Lancelot supposed it was. Mind-boggling to one not endowed with magic, but a natural and native part of what Merlin was in his most basic essence.

Merlin seemed to feel more elaboration was required. He sat up a bit and leaned back against his pillow. “I’m rubbish at anything having to do with healing. Obviously. You saw that yourself.” He rubbed absently at his ear as the corners of his mouth turned down. Lancelot suspected he was recalling the earlier argument with Gaius over the use of healing magic. “I’m not much good with spells to repair things either, so I don’t bother much with those,” he went on, his voice somewhat dispirited, but then he brightened a bit. “Well, other than one for mending clothing. It was beastly difficult to get it working on a regular basis, but well worth it. I’d probably be walking around naked without it.” Yet another slight giggle, but then he paused and frowned, his expression turning suddenly serious. “Actually, now that I think about it, my talents seem to tend towards the destructive end of the spectrum.”

The admission seemed to make him uncomfortable, and he looked down at his hands in silence. Lancelot wasn’t sure what to say in response, or even if he should say anything at all. He glanced back down at the spell book to distract himself, and he found himself commenting on the spell he found there. Merlin had been quite eager to talk about the mending spell, so maybe a little lighter subject matter would turn him away from dreary thoughts.

“You can really turn someone into a toad?” Lancelot said, looking up with his head tilted in inquiry.

Merlin seemed to consider for a moment, the gloominess in his expression fading. It seemed to be taking him some effort to formulate a reply. Lancelot didn’t think he was going to get much more coherence out of Merlin, but he’d take what he could get. What he was learning _was_ very interesting to him, and might be useful in the future.

“I suppose I could,” Merlin finally concluded. “I’ve never tried. At least not that spell specifically. Transformations are very difficult. They take a lot of concentration and energy, especially if you’re trying to cast onto more than one object at a time.” Instead of stopping there, he went on, warming to his subject. “Shame, really. I could’ve turned Morgana’s army into rats.” He grinned, then shook his head. “No wait. That’s a horrible idea. Could you imagine? Thousands of rats that refused to die? They would’ve nibbled us all to death. Ants, maybe? But that would’ve ruined every picnic that ever was, until the end of time.”

Lancelot closed the spell book. “I think that tonic Gaius gave you is making you silly,” he commented.

“Oh, yes indeed, it is,” Merlin said as he slid down into his bed until he was lying on his back again. He stared at the ceiling for a moment. “It’s kind of nice, actually.” Then he turned a warning look on Lancelot. “Don’t tell Gwaine. He’ll be in here claiming some horrible ache or pain every other day.”

“My lips are sealed,” Lancelot replied as he got up and returned the book to the pile. “You’d better spell that again,” he added as he turned back to Merlin.

Merlin obediently muttered the appropriate spell, but then he raised himself on his elbow and exclaimed quite emphatically, “Oh, bollocks.”

Lancelot was somewhat taken aback. Merlin hardly ever said anything off-color, and he’d never uttered that particular word in Lancelot’s hearing.

Apparently Lancelot stared just a bit too long in his surprise because Merlin said, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it because I said bollocks? Really, Lancelot, I’m not a child. And even if I hadn’t been paying attention to things like that, I’m sure Gwaine would’ve filled in the gaps in my education by now. Actually, he has taught me a few things, most of which I’d be embarrassed to repeat. Might come in handy someday. That is if I ever find the time to actually pay more attention to women. You know, not in the friend way.”

He flopped back down again, apparently exhausted by the ramble.

“So why did you say… _that_?” Lancelot asked, not wanting to repeat the word. Really, Merlin needed to get some sleep, but whatever he’d thought of must’ve been important if it had made him blurt out such an unaccustomed epithet.

“Oh. Umm.” Merlin’s eyebrows knitted together. “I think I’m supposed to be doing…something or other for Arthur.” His words were starting to slur now. “Helping him with his paperwork? I think that’s it. Damn. I hate scribing.”

“Don’t worry,” Lancelot said with a chuckle. Merlin’s swearing was actually oddly endearing and rather amusing, a bit like hearing a child repeat an inappropriate word he’d overheard. “I’ll deliver Gaius’s excuse for you.”

Merlin’s only reply was a bit of humming, followed by a slight snore. Lancelot shook his head in fond amusement, then started to slowly and quietly leave the room. He paused at the door, though, and said softly, “Good night, Hannah. Sleep well.”

As he turned to open the door, Lancelot swore he felt a sharp slap to the back of his head, but when he turned to send an accusing glare back at Merlin, he seemed to be sound asleep. There had been no utterance of anything remotely like a spell either. Lancelot wondered if it was possible to reflexively do magic. He made a mental note to be very careful not to aggravate Merlin when he was tired.

Gaius thanked Lancelot on the way out, which was hardly necessary because Lancelot would always look after Merlin, even if expressly told not to, but Gaius always said it anyway. After that, Lancelot determined he may as well go directly to Arthur and get the inevitable yelling out of the way.

Arthur was seated at his desk, working away at a pile of parchments and scrolls, which seemed to indicate Merlin had been correct about what he was supposed to have been doing that evening. As soon as Arthur saw Lancelot, he simply laid his quill down, sighed, and looked up at the ceiling as he asked, “What has he done to himself now?”

“He was brewing some potions for Gaius. There was a mishap.” Lancelot hoped fervently that the pained look he could feel on his face would be taken for sympathy for Merlin or apprehension at delivering the message and not discomfort with lying to the prince. A guard was one thing, but this was entirely another matter.

Now Arthur turned a stern look on Lancelot. “So how much damage did he do?”

“Quite a few burns. One fairly serious, but Gaius says he’ll heal.” At least that much was the truth. Lancelot relaxed a bit.

“I meant how much damage did he do to Gaius’s chambers, but never mind.” Arthur waved a dismissive hand and picked his quill back up. “Just tell Merlin to heal quickly. My shirts aren’t going to wash themselves, you know.”

And that was that. Surprisingly, no further punishment, so for once, Lancelot didn’t have to be concerned about repercussions to Merlin. It was a puzzle to Lancelot, so he started to pay better attention to the relationship between Merlin and Arthur over the following weeks. He began to see that the antagonism wasn’t one-sided and that there was usually a good-natured feel to it. Obviously, Merlin respected Arthur, but Lancelot was pleased to eventually conclude that the feeling went both ways. There even seemed to be a genuine fondness between the two.

Lancelot’s observations were a great source of relief to him. After all, he had pledged his sword and his life to Arthur, and he didn’t like doubting that Arthur was worthy of complete loyalty. There was still the matter of magic being outlawed, but Lancelot began to feel that even if Merlin’s magic was discovered, it wouldn’t be an immediate death sentence for him.

Of course, Lancelot couldn’t entirely stop worrying about Merlin because trouble seemed to have a way of finding him. Even when it didn’t, he actively went searching for it, at least when it meant the kingdom or its leader were in peril. Merlin was every bit as loyal as a knight, doing his own part to protect the kingdom in his own ways. Lancelot had a great deal of respect for that, as well as for the enormous power that had been part of Merlin since the day he’d been born. But still Lancelot worried, and he did so whenever necessary, until the day he died.

*****

The End


End file.
